


boy, you're not so tough

by pertunes



Category: Lost
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pertunes/pseuds/pertunes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Wide open and genuine, he laughs while Sawyer continues to arrange his spent limbs, and digs in a spot next to him.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He was going to all along, Jack realizes.</i>
</p><p> 10 moments between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	boy, you're not so tough

**Author's Note:**

> i'm an idiot and i'm writing lost fic 10 years too late. i'm only up to mid-season 2 so this is pretty tame. bless all you amazing livejournal authors for still having your jack/sawyer available to read.
> 
> title is from the fifth day by the airborne toxic event.

_1_

The distance between the caves and the beach is enough time for him to think, but not enough time to do anything with it.

It's dark when he starts out with a torch and two backpacks and Vincent walks next to him. Jack hasn't been up this early to do rounds since he was an intern.

Sawyer is awake every time he gets to his tent.

"Prime real estate out here, Doc, you thinkin' of moving back?"

His attention's on the dog, playing keep away with a stick, and Jack can see the tightness around his eyes, just a little bit different than everyone else's.

"I wanted to check on the baby," Jack says, and Sawyer nods like it's the most interesting thing he's heard all day. Night.

When he comes back he leaves a week's worth of halved sleeping pills with Sawyer's water bottle. It's the best he can do.

Jack starts rounds after sunrise. He's sick of the sand; a little separation will do him good.

_2_

One pack of dry cigarettes is the rumor. Jack doesn't even need to ask who has them.

When he hears Sawyer's using them as currency, he has to see for himself.

"What can I do you for?" Sawyer is not in the business of making eye contact until he wants to. It's something psychological, Jack figures, but he doesn't know and doesn't care enough to find out yet. He is sick of sinking into the sand, though.

"Give me one," Jack says.

"'Fraid I'm fresh out." He eyes Jack as he sits next to him. Sawyer also doesn't lie very well until he wants to.

"No, no," Jack says. It's soft here, cold sand shaded by the trees and Sawyer's tent. He doesn't have to squint and he can lean back, comfortable. Sawyer is a spot of gold next to him and Jack can see his ribs. He's not looking for an argument.

"Charlie said you gave him three for working on the raft."

Sawyer eyes him, but he gets the pack out of one of his bags, lights one up for Jack with one of their torches.

Jack breathes in for the first time in two months. They're really shitty.

"All kindsa health concerns there, Doc, I didn't take you for-"

Sawyer sputters when he gets a face full of smoke. Jack takes off, kicking sand up, and Sawyer never gives him any shit for it, so he figures he got that one for free.

_3_

Sarah had a book club that met every Wednesday. It might have been Wednesday, Jack's not sure, what with the failed marriage and all that.

That's what he thinks of whenever he sees Sawyer with a book on the beach, which is all the time. He reads six in three days and on the fourth Rose lets him raid the collection of romance novels in her suitcase.

He's glad Sayid knows what he's doing because Jack doesn't have a clue how to weld, and he doesn't know what would've happened if he'd tried to fashion a pair of glasses just so Sawyer can read trashy literature.

_4_

"Well, she ain't here, sweetheart," Sawyer sneers, barely looking up, and Jack's heart tips in his chest, an irregular _thump thump_ before continuing on its way. He doesn't even care about Kate now, doesn't give a damn what he was just asking.

"Right," he says flatly, and stalks away. He ignores the sweat dotting the back of his shirt. Today is overcast, and it should rain in a few hours.

This is his first nickname that isn't Doc.

_5_

Jin needs stitches.

Someone needs stitches if Jack is awake or if Jack is asleep or if Jack is going to the bathroom or even when Jack is just doing his damn laundry, trying to take advantage of the machines in the hatch for the first time. He's been thinking about holding a workshop because more than one person on this island has got to be able to sew something closed.

He leaves so fast the water's still running, yelling to Sawyer for button duty, and when he gets back, running on empty, the hatch is empty and his clothes are clean. Turns out Sawyer doesn't do a bad job folding.

_6_

"I know you love her," Jack says at the top of a hill, Sawyer staggering behind, and it burns like the last three miles haven't.

John's talking about the trail so Jack's listening to him, but he still hears Sawyer's infuriated "what?" all the way in his gut, and Jack's panting.

It feels like waiting for a fever to break, like the home stretch of a race Jack has already lost.

_7_

The second search does not go well.

He's at it with Locke, can physically _feel_ when he takes it one "is this destiny, then, John?" too far, and then he takes a hit.

Locke slaps him open-palm with a right foot step and it hurts like a bitch. It blooms white hot across Jack's cheek, bright into his eyes.

He squints. It might bruise. When he looks up, Sawyer's got one hand raised like he's gonna come between them with his bad shoulder, the other at his back, and his face is cloudy.

"Fine," Jack smiles, and it's cold. "Fine, fine, John."

Sawyer edges one step closer to him and stops, hesitant. "What say we call this one a little early, boys."

John nods, sweat slides down his neck. He turns on his heel and leads them back on their trail, wordless. Sawyer motions for Jack to go in front of him, and he evens his pace with Jack's, mile for mile.

 Jack knows that Sawyer, back in his tent, has the camp's only stash of batteries and the last of the good vodka and the shampoo Claire uses on Aaron, and Jack knows he doesn't share.

He knows Sawyer does not hit. He shoots.

_8_

He does hold that workshop.

He sits them in the sand and rations out small sections of string and makes them suture banana peels back together.

Kate is good but slow, Hurley gives up halfway through, Charlie's hands shake, and Sun and Claire are naturals.

Jack settles his hands over Sawyer's, spacing them just the slightest. "Good," he says softly. "They don't have to be that close."

Sawyer grunts at him, scowling as his glasses slide down his nose, and takes his advice.

_9_

It's sunset.

Jack is exhausted. Sawyer's concussed.

He's damn near tripping over his feet but he's got Sawyer backed up against a tree, palms gentle on his face, tipping his head into the light. Sawyer lets him.

"Dizzy?" Jack asks.

"Well, when you're this close," Sawyer says. His eyes are hooded, peering at Jack.

It's a nasty bump. Jack doesn't know if he says that out loud. His own head his fuzzy, and he can't remember if he slept last night or the night before.

"Alright, Doc, you're goin' down," Sawyer drawls and Jack blinks. He's slumped over Sawyer's chest, smelling the woods on him, and Sawyer's nosing behind his ear, one hot hand under Jack's rattiest t-shirt, trying to keep him upright.

"'Kay," Jack says.

"Let's go," Sawyer says, and Jack has never been so willing to let him lead the way.

_10_

"God, you're fuckin' wet," Sawyer grunts into his ear. He's not wrong. Jack always leaks, but he can't really seem to keep anything together right now, flat on his back panting like a horse and his cock blurting pre-come every time Sawyer rasps his stubble over his skin.

It's barely enough, suddenly, with his shorts pushed down his thighs and Sawyer kneeling over him. His cock his as tan as he is, Jack thinks for one ridiculous second, dark dusky pink, and Sawyer's got Jack's in his hand, just barely enough to keep him wild.

Jack bites down on an embarrassing whine. "T-together," he pants, "together." His hands shake just the slightest when he reaches for Sawyer.

"Genius, fuckin' genius." Sawyer's voice is all wrecked, and he winds one hand between them around them both. There's the hot slick drag, mostly thanks to Jack, Sawyer sliding against him, and Jack—Jack can't even look.

His head tips back with a moan, a long, hurt sound low in his throat he can't ever remember making and Sawyer speeds up above him, says, "Shit, there you go, Doc."

Jack comes looking at the stars and the wisps of Sawyer's hair swaying as he fucks into his own hand. He doesn't even register when Sawyer finishes, just feels the rush of warmth on his stomach, hears his grunts taper off as he shifts Jack over to lie down with him.

Sawyers sucks his teeth. "There's come in the sand," he says petulantly.

Jack laughs. Wide open and genuine, he laughs while Sawyer continues to arrange his spent limbs, and digs in a spot next to him.

He was going to all along, Jack realizes.


End file.
